


Smelling Of Smoke (And Hearing Voices Not There)

by DumpsterDiving101



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Books, Complete, Completed, Dark, Demons, Fire, Hospital, Illness, Insanity, Library, M/M, Mental, Mental Asylum, Mental Hospital, Mental Illness, Mentions of Suicide, Pyromania, Schizophrenia, Suicide Attempt, chaptered fic, mental institute, psychiatric ward, smoke, trigger warning, tw, voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterDiving101/pseuds/DumpsterDiving101
Summary: Phil was a quiet type of crazy. Dan’s eyes were so loud that they made everyone take a step back from his madness- everyone but Phil, who instead, stepped forwards.Themes: chaptered fic, au, mental asylum, trigger warning, insanity, darkTW: mental illness, schizophrenia, depression, mentions of suicide/suicide attempts, mental hospital, abuse





	1. Chapter 1

Everything, every single thing stunk of hand sanitizer and bleach. The bleach was assumably from intense cleanings, but in a place like this, you never knew. 

Phil lay in his new room, covering his eyes with the back of his arm. That same hand was responsible for, not a few hours earlier, signing the forms declaring him in the official care of the doctors and therapists at St. James Psychiatric Hospital. He would live there for an extended amount of time, until either he was signed out by his parents, or until the doctors decided it was time for him to leave. Don’t be confused- Phil chose to be there. His… state was getting worse and worse until he found the voices carrying him to a bridge and telling him to jump. 

There were no bridges to jump from here. He’d be taken care of, until he was stabilized once more. But for now, he was safe. 

_If only he knew._

—

Three days later, Phil was already settled in and thriving under the new medication and therapy, along with the regular schedules and rigorous care he was given by all of the staff. 

The voices hadn’t quieted yet, but he was sure they would before too long. And he’d only had one hallucination since he was checked in- at least, Phil thought. It could be hard to tell what wasn’t really there, but he was pretty sure the beetles that had scampered across his floor the first night weren’t really there. 

Phil was walking back to his room when a loud commotion was heard, and the double doors at the end of the hall burst open, a group of at least 5 people pushing through, pushing one man taller than all of them along. The man was something else; over 6 feet of raw power and utter insanity, the only restraint holding him back a pair of handcuffs pinning his hands behind his back. But it was clear more was needed, as even then his eyes flickered around, absorbing the walls like he was considering tearing them down, like if he wanted to, he could. Despite the hoard of doctors surrounding him and holding him in, he struggled playfully, shoving the doctors off his shoulders and occasionally causing one to stumble. They could barely control him, barely _handle_ him at all. 

And through it all, the crazy man smiled, smirked with a sort of intense pride. He reminded Phil of a toddler who did something naughty and knew it, but just couldn’t feel guilty. Just looking at him, you knew he was a jackal, a wolf disguised as himself, a sly smile ready to rip you apart. 

The voices rose in volume, and Phil looked around before realizing no one else heard them. He could hardly make out the confused chatter, words that sounded familiar, but couldn’t be interpreted. As the man grew closer, the voices got louder until Phil was pressing his fingers to his temples, muttering for them to _be quiet, please be quiet, I can’t hear anything._

A few minutes later, Phil was aware of a hand on his shoulder, a nurse looking at him with sincere concern. The man was gone, making Phil wonder if he had been real at all. 

—-

The next day, Phil found out that he truly didn’t hallucinate the man when he sat next to Phil at lunch. 

"Good, there’s an open seat,“ the man said, his voice deep with a texture like the ocean, and more posh than Phil would have imagined. He sat next to Phil, not too close though it certainly felt that way. Phil sat at his own table in the cafeteria, alone with his thoughts and their thoughts. Sometimes alone was better. 

So when the crazed man sat next to him, Phil was already upset. That emotion quickly changed to intrigue and a little bit of worry at the man next to him. Even taller than him, with messy dark brown curls that likely hadn’t been washed in more than a few days. The man smelled of aluminum, and something else…. smoke. 

"Are you mute?” The man asked, almost sincerely, except for his little smirk. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and Phil wondered if he could see through people’s clothes with them. It certainly seemed like it with the way the man looked around greedily, absorbing and claiming everything within sight. And now, his gaze was fixed on Phil. 

He’d said something, didn’t he? Phil couldn’t remember, he just knew that the man stared at him expectantly, head tilted slightly. He was most certainly mad.

"My name is Phil,“ Phil offered, hoping he was answering the man’s question. 

"I’m Dan,” the man said, eyes twitching to a spot a few feet away then back on Phil, intensely. He took his hand and shook loosely, despite Phil not offering his hand to shake. 

Phil wondered how in the hell this man wasn’t still in handcuffs. Or a straight jacket, perhaps. 

Dan sat forwards and began eating, his eyes still tracking everyone in the room. Phil reminded himself that he needed to focus on eating lunch, and did just that. 

_Wonder what he did._

_I bet he killed someone._

_Maybe he’ll kill Phil._

_Let’s hope so._

Phil looked over his shoulder, but no one was there. He could’ve sworn those words were real, spoken right behind him. But he knew better. 

The man- Dan- had stopped eating, watching Phil with a careful intensity. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked, not in a rude way, but more of blatant honesty. 

"Yes,“ Phil muttered. "I’m in a mental hospital.” 

Dan’s gaze told him that’s not what he’d been asked. 

"I have… voices, behind me,“ Phil explained. "Erm… in my head. Schizophrenia. And when the voices told me to throw myself off a bridge, I admitted myself here instead of listening,” he explained. 

Dan’s expression was hard to read, besides making it clear that it had answered his question- and likely given him a dozen more to ask. 

Phil cleared his throat. “And, um, you?”

The man’s eyes were fully dilated. That’s what it seemed, at least. Maybe his eyes were just so black that there was little difference between pupil and iris. 

Maybe, Phil realized, maybe Dan was an addict. Though he’d never thought of it before, perhaps people with drug addictions came here too? To recover?

Dan was watching him, looking him directly in the eyes as if reading Phil’s thoughts. 

"Are you, um… a recovering addict?“ 

That was the first time Phil heard Dan laugh, and he almost jumped out of his skin. Loud, purely joyous laughter, and for a second the man squeezed his eyes closed in delight. Everyone stopped talking, shifting and watching them uncomfortably. Phil saw a nurse watching them, holding onto something out of sight, wielding it like a weapon she didn’t want to use. 

"Yes Phil, I’m a recovering addict,” Dan said, his eyes gleaming obsessively. He lowered his voice along with his chin, so he was speaking quietly, dark shadows casting across his face. “I’m a pyromaniac,” he muttered lowly. “I’m here on court orders after I burnt a building to the ground.”

Phil’s hand was trembling, but his voice remained steady- for the most part. “Was anyone inside?”

For the first time, Phil saw what Dan looked like when he was disappointed. “No. Unfortunately.” His eyes flickered back up, and Phil wanted to scoot back, move away, but he held his ground. “But don’t worry. I won’t be in here for long.”


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the day was a cluster of different types of therapies and free time. Group therapy, art therapy, individual therapy, etc, etc, until Phil was just about through talking about his feelings. Talking about the voices, acknowledging them, just seemed to make it worse. They chattered endlessly throughout the day like parrots on his shoulders, or little kids prattling on behind him. He only heard the individual words when he focused on them.

_Idiot,_ they whispered.

In his free time, Phil went to the library or walked around the garden. The facility had a large, beautiful garden area with walk ways that Phil liked to wander on. Not everyone at the hospital was allowed outside, but all Phil had to do was show them his plastic wristband, and he was allowed for as long as his schedule permitted him.

Phil pitied the people who weren’t allowed outside. The endless white walls of the hospital hurt his head, and the stench of sickness made him feel physically ill.

_It’s all in your head._

“Go away.”

When dinner came around, he ate at his table again, all alone. When the nurse came over with his medicine, he took it obediently. He was a good patient; quiet, obedient, taking up little room. He got in no fights, had no dramatic attacks- yet. The doctors told him that he internalized his feelings too much sometimes, that if he needed to get his emotions out, he should take it out on a pillow or something. Phil smiled and told them that he was fine. He was fine. He wasn’t angry. He was calm; he was relaxed; he didn’t even mind the voices.

_You love us, don’t you? We’re your only friends._

_Dan wasn’t in the cafeteria, even though everyone ate dinner at the same time. Phil hadn’t seen him since lunch._

__You made him up.__

__You’re going crazy.__

__You already are.__

_“Shut up,” Phil muttered under his breath.  
—-  
Dan wasn’t at breakfast or lunch the next day, but Phil _did_ see him in art therapy. Dan smeared red on his hands and face, and started laughing, uncomfortably loudly. He was made to leave._

_Though Phil didn’t talk to him, he did see him. Dan’s knuckles were cracked, and he had a bruise on his cheek that was starting to turn green. His curls were even worse for wear than they’d been the day before._

_But, surprisingly enough, Dan was at dinner that night. Already sitting at the table where Phil sat at, looking around suspiciously._

__You’re not seriously going over there, are you?__

_Phil sat his tray next to Dan, trying to put enough space in between them. As soon as he sat, Dan scooted closer._

__God, he’s almost as annoying as you are.__

_Phil started eating, trying to ignore the man next to him. Dan didn’t eat, just peered around the room, turning around and counting under his breath._

_“3,” he muttered, pleased. “They’re understaffed.”_

_Phil tried to ignore him, just eat his dinner. _Just like that,_ the voices sang. _Be a good boy.__

_He slammed his fork on his plate, turning to Dan, who looked nothing but amused. “Three what?” Phil ordered the answer, demanding both with his words and with his eyes, steely and firm._

_Dan was not shaken. “Three guards.”_

_“They’re called nurses,” Phil corrected, irritated. “Why does it matter?”_

_Dan smiled in a way that worried Phil. “It doesn’t,” he said, trying to push the subject aside. “But look. One’s watching us.”_

_Phil looked to where Dan was gesturing, where a woman watched them carefully._

_“Watch.”_

_Dan scooted closer smoothly, so his legs and Phil’s were completely touching. Phil held his breath as one of Dan’s hands wandered over to Phil’s leg, tracing his thigh teasingly._

_The nurse scowled._

_Dan smiled wider, slowing down his movements so that his hand gently caressed Phil’s upper thigh. His motions were smooth, but definitely not careful. He was doing it to get a rise out of the nurse- and to mess with Phil._

_“They don’t like it when I play with their… _patients_.”_

_Phil grunted and pushed Dan’s hand away. His fingers were strangely warm, like he’d just been wearing gloves- or rather, as if he’d just held his hand over a roaring fire and waited to see if it would puff up like a marshmallow._

_The voices hissed with pleasure as one of Dan’s hands gripped his shoulder, a hand trailing along Phil’s chest. Phil gripped the seat underneath him as the mad man’s touch burned through his clothes, his entire body tingling as he whispered: “The hallway by the nurse’s station.”_

_Dan was roughly yanked away, the doctors pulling him backwards, his deep laughter dripping with a mixture of pride and insanity.  
A hand was on Phil’s shoulder again. “Are you okay? What did he say?”_

__Be obedient.__

__You shouldn’t pretend. Tell her the truth, Phil.__

__How pathetic.__

_Phil shoved the hand off his shoulder. “Nothing,” he growled._

__Oh, trying to change? You think that you can play this little game of pretend? We know who you are, and you’re nothing but a coward. Tell them where you’re going.__

_Phil stood up abruptly. “I’m going to my room.”_

_He marched away, not looking back at the nurse who was clearly confused by his actions. Turning the corner, Phil kept walking.  
Towards the nurses' station. _Not_ to his room._

_—-  
“So you actually showed up.” The voice was hungry and melodic, like a voice you might hear in a dream. Phil clenched his knuckles. The stage whispers in his head were so _loud_ , and he was so _tired_ of them._

_He watched as Dan walked to him slowly, eying him carefully. Each footstep pounded in his ears, black shoes on white floor, echoing against white walls, white ceiling, white noise. Silence, except there was the echo, and there were the whispers, getting louder as they got more excited. Hands went up the back of Phil’s shirt, cold hands, that he knew weren’t real because Dan wasn’t touching him yet. Yet. And the nurse’s station was just around the corner, but Phil knew no one would see them._

_The whispers were excited. They loved watching Phil destroy himself._

_“Wanna do something that’ll really piss them off?”_

_Cold eyes. Empty eyes. Staring right at Phil. Cold eyes, warm skin. Cold eyes, warm lips, pressing against Phil’s angrily. No consent came from his lips, but it did from his eyes, from the hands on the man’s chest both pushing him away and pulling him in._

_And for a few moments, everything was completely _silent_._

_Then Dan was gone, and the hall was filled with screaming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr dedicated purely to writing phanfiction [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/). You can also request a phanfic [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/ask). Please comment and tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

The white panels on the ceiling was all Phil saw. He watched them for hours, watching as ladybugs flew over and landed on them. Phil held very still. Maybe, if he was still enough, they'd land on him. 

He didn't try to get up. He didn't _want_ to get up. The drugs still coursing through his system sedated him, medically induced voices whispering soothingly in his ear. 

_You're going to die here_ , one said. It sounded like his mother. He imagined her brushing his fringe to the side comfortingly, like she always did when he was sick. _You'll die here all alone. The ladybugs will eat your body before the nurses bother to find you._

Phil _hated_ sedatives. They made the voices softer, more peaceful, but also more direct. These voices didn't want to annoy him or control him, like the voices normally did. 

They wanted to _kill_ him. 

How long had he lain in the bed, staring up at the ceiling? How long had he been stuck in a mind numbing trance, his only entertainment his own hallucinations? The voices talked often enough to give him a headache, but rarely enough that it made it hard to ignore them when they did speak up. 

There was a mechanical hum in the background, the background either of his thoughts or of his room he couldn't be sure. 

_Real or not real?_ They asked. Then they laughed. 

Phil didn't remember how he got to his bed, but he could guess. He knew he heard screams fill the hallway, and then he woke up in the bed pumped full of drugs. Maybe the screams were his. Maybe they were just in his head. Either way, he had a breakdown. 

_You're never going to get better._

"Please shut up." Phil's voice was raw from disuse, but at least he could open his mouth. That meant the meds were wearing off. His chapped lips stuck together, his throat sore. 

Maybe it _was_ his screams. 

When he gained enough control of his body back, Phil crawled out of bed, dragging himself to the bathroom. He was a mess- but he knew that already. 

The bathroom had a window, high enough that no one from the outside could see in. But it let in natural light, bright natural light, meaning he'd slept through the night and at least most of the morning. 

Fine. If he couldn't get breakfast, he'd go get lunch. 

 

\---

"You look like death." Dan commented, his voice more observant than concerned. "Had a rough night?" He smirked as though he was suggesting Phil was with someone the previous night. Dan knew perfectly well where he was. 

"Did I scream?" 

Dan's eyes dilated more quickly than Phil had ever seen, his pupils like camera shutters. "When?" 

Phil's eyes widened. "Last night." 

"You screamed. Tried to hit a nurse too." 

"What? Did I hurt them?"

Dan shook his head, looking disappointed. Then his grin returned. "Nah, but it was pretty funny to watch."

 

\----

Phil didn't talk for most of the day. When the stupid, horrible group therapies were done with, he crawled back to his bed, refusing to move. The drugs were likely still in his system, enough to make him irritable and depressed.

When it was time for dinner, he got up and went to the dining hall. He sat at his table, alone, and reminded himself this was for the best. He didn't do well with others. 

_Besides, you have all the company you need right here,_ a voice hissed with laughter. 

Dan set his tray down next to Phil's, climbing over the bench to sit down gayly. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

Phil remained quiet, pushing his food around on his plate. 

But Dan didn't get the memo. "Birds chirping, sun is shining..."

"I haven't even seen a window yet," Phil cut him off harshly. "Now if you'd excuse me, I'd rather be left alone. Move, why don't you?"

He seldom used such a tone on anyone. But Phil knew that he wasn't going to get Dan to move by being nice. 

Alas, his cold tone did nothing. Dan snorted, shoveling a spoonful of veggies in his mouth. "Are you ever really alone, what with the voices?"

_Shut up._ "Leave me alone."

"But that's the thing." Dan turned on the bench, swinging one over to the other side. "I don't think you can be alone. It's a paradox, Phil Lester."

His eyes were bright with excitement, his tone low. He was playing Phil like a piano- and it was working. 

Maybe it was the side effects from the pain meds, or just his general miserable mood. Maybe Phil was upset about the night before. Or maybe, Dan's words mixed with his teasing expression hit some internal string inside Phil at just the wrong angle, causing it to snap. And just like that, Dan was on the floor, with Phil on top of him, fists heaving against the man's face. 

Everything around them was a commotion, but Phil didn't see it, didn't hear it. All he heard was the excited voices, cheering him on. 

_Harder. Hit him harder._

As Phil raised his fist back once more, he felt a foot come up and hook behind his shoulder, forcefully shoving him to the ground. 

Dan was on top of him, pinning Phil down in such a way that he couldn't breathe. For whatever reason, Phil could hear _Dan's_ voice, slow and melodic, dreamlike; "Angry, angry. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to attack your dinner guests?"

Phil growled and tried to shove Dan off, and his face stung with the punch that he didn't even see coming. Phil's punches were sloppy, aggression leaking into his fists and hitting whatever he could. Dan's punches were perfect; calibrated, smooth, easy. And they hurt like a bitch. 

Dan was still angry, his eyes narrowing as he reached up to the table to grab something- silverware, perhaps- when he was finally torn away, hauled off of Phil limply, his hands in fists and his smile menacing. 

Phil was brought back to his room, where he was injected with something that made all his anger drain out of him until he was an empty shell, staring upwards at the white ceiling blankly. 

\---

"I've never been to the gardens." 

Phil hummed quietly. "They're nice. Very well kept. I used to try to keep houseplants, but they all died too quickly."

Dan didn't say anything. Perhaps he never bothered with houseplants, always trying to kill more interesting subjects. He was after all, here on court orders for burning down a building. Dan seemed saddened when he said no one was inside at the time, so no one was injured.

_I can't go outside._

"What?"

"I said I can't go outside," Dan repeated. The first time, Phil thought it was one of the voices that liked to talk to him, liked to bother him throughout the day. 

Phil nodded. He didn't need to ask why. 

"But I don't think I would hurt the plants," Dan added carefully, looking out the window and the well manicured greens, surrounding a narrow walking path. "I like plants. They don't deserve it."

Phil didn't question that. Just accept it. "Okay." 

"I wish they'd let me outside."

"Hmm."

They stopped looking out the window, turning and walking without discussion. 

Phil's jawline ached from the day before, when Dan had punched him. He'd deserved it, but that didn't change that it hurt. His face was tinted green with the bruise. 

Dan had gotten a few smaller bruises, but they didn't seem very out of place. With his all black attire, dirty hair and hands that never stopped moving, a few bruises seemed natural. Dan's left hand was cracked, his knuckles bloody. Phil was pretty sure they'd been cracked already, before even coming in contact with Phil's face.

It was a quiet morning, most people hiding away in their rooms. Phil wasn't sure if they were allowed to wander around the hospital as they did, but when Dan had snuck in his room and offered it up, Phil didn't want to say no. So he didn't. 

"I want a car," Dan confessed. "A black one."

"What type?"

"A black one."

Phil snorted. "A minivan? Truck?"

"Something fast." Dan turned to him, assessing Phil. "Did you have a car?"

"I do." For one of the first times, Phil felt like he was talking to a little kid rather than a crazy person. "At home."

"You have a home." It was phrased almost as question, almost as a statement. Maybe both. 

Phil nodded uncertainly. "And a life. I think. I've only been in here a few days, but it already feels like this is my life, and everything else has been a hallucination."   
They turned and kept walking until they got to the the next window, stopping and watching. It was a gloomy day. Inside, at least. It could have been perfectly sunny outside, but only made to look cloudy because of the windows they looked through. After all, everything was made cloudier in a mental hospital. 

"You have a lot of hallucinations?"

Phil shrugged. They looked straight forwards, out the window. Outside where they weren't allowed to go. Past the gardens. With the sane people. 

"I think I do. Sometimes it's hard to tell what's a hallucination and what's real." He paused. "What was your life like before you came here?"

"Better." 

"Why?"

Dan's eyes were trained on a man outside, walking casually. "Less rules. They took my lighters." 

Phil didn't want to ask. "What'd you use the lighters for?" He asked. 

"Burning things." 

"Like what?" 

"Buildings." Dan paused. "Paper. My kitchen table. My bed. Bushes. Dried grass. Anything I can find."

Phil inhaled. "Why?" 

"Why do you hear voices?" 

He bit his lip. "Okay." 

_Okay._

_Stop ignoring us._

"There's a nurse smoking outside." 

"Okay."

_Okay._

_Okay._

_Stop ignoring us._

_Okay._

_There's a nurse smoking outside._

_Okay._

 

_Are they talking again?_

"Are they talking again?" 

Phil blinked. "Okay."

Dan shook his head. "You're a strange person."

_Okay._

_There's a nurse smoking outside._

_Okay._

"Okay." 

"You said that already.” 

Phil squeezed his eyes shut, willing the voices to go away. 

_You go away. We’re here to stay._

“I have therapy soon,” Phil muttered. “Gotta go.” 

Dan snorted. “You actually go to that?”

Phil’s eyes widened. “Well, yeah. I'm here to get better.” 

Dan looked out the window, staring at the nurse smoking outside with uncomfortable fascination. “That's stupid.” 

“Don't you want to get out?” 

He laughed. “Phil, I'm not going to get out when they decide I'm ‘better’. Nothing's wrong with me, so I can't be cured.” 

“You set a building on fire,” Phil mumbled before he could stop himself. 

Dan stiffened. “I know. And I only regret getting caught.” He tore his gaze away from outside, staring at Phil intensely. “I'm getting out of here on my own time. And I can tell you now, it’s going to be soon. So don’t get too comfy.” 

Phil's mouth felt dry. “If you want to run away…. I'm not going with you.” 

“I never said you would. But you won't want to be here when I'm done with the place, so be ready.” 

A nurse turned into the hallway. “Phil, it's time for your session with-” 

“Okay,” Phil muttered, pushing away from Dan. “Yeah, okay. I'll go.” He forced himself to walk, to walk away from Dan. He didn't look back. 

He looked back. Dan was staring out the window again at the smoking nurse. He wasn't smiling, but there was a strange glint in his eyes, an obsessive stare. 

And that's when Phil remembered that in order to smoke, you need two things- a cigarette, and a _lighter_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr dedicated purely to writing phanfiction [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/)! (On Ao3, I post my favorite chaptered fics that I've written, but I don't post any oneshots on here, so you have to check out my tumblr to see those). You can also request a phanfic [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/ask)! Please comment and tell me what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

St. James Psychiatric Hospital had its issues, but it also had its redeeming qualities. One of which being it’s gardens, another being it’s library.

The library on its own was not impressive. A few mismatched shelves stacked with second hand paperbacks, all of which had been donated or found at bookstores in the ‘free’ box. But just the fact that there was a library at all was boast-worthy.

You didn’t have to have special permission to enter the library, unlike the gardens, though Phil didn’t know how wise that decision was. He’d read some things in these books that could easily set someone like Dan off. Maybe the staff was counting on the fact that someone like Dan wouldn’t be interested in reading to start with, which wasn’t wrong. Dan wouldn’t have stepped foot in the library if Phil hadn’t dragged him in.

Phil spent many hours reading. It was one of the few things he did that made the voices shut up. The only other thing he knew to work consistently was being around Dan, and even that was sketchy. But when he dove into a book, he was able to forget for a little while.

He got Dan to read too. He didn’t know what they were; they kissed, sometimes, almost as if to pass the time. They ate meals together and spent their free time together. It reminded Phil of those old marriages where the passion was replaced with familiarity, someone to be around for the sake of not being alone anymore. Dan had lots of passion, just not for Phil. To Phil’s knowledge, Dan wasn’t capable of that type of passion for anything but his obsession.

And it was just that. An obsession, an addiction, a disorder focused solely around the flame and what the flame looks like and what the flame does. Dan was an obsessive gone wrong. All of his thoughts seemed to be centralized around fire. In art therapy, he painted fire, and when it was banned from him he painted charred things, or singed things, buildings in rubble and grass gone black. He painted in reds and oranges and swirls of energy that weren’t fire, technically, but when you looked closely you could still see the inspiration behind it.

And, as the time passed, and Phil watched him closer, he saw that the way Dan carried himself resembled it as well. He was powerful; he was intimidating; he was dangerous; he was reckless; he burned with a type of energy that made you take a step back. And, if he thought about it, Phil supposed that he’d taken a step forwards, letting the flames engulf him.

Dan had no impulse control. He got in trouble often, and often Phil heard the nurses talk about moving him to another facility, but they couldn’t, and that was mainly because of Phil. When Dan was around Phil, that was the only time he was contained. He almost resembled a human, and this hospital that wanted to cure people could not take away his only cure.

Sometimes Phil didn’t see Dan for hours or days, even. He didn’t have to tune into the gossip to know why. Dan got in another fight; Dan had another attack; Dan scared someone. Then he’d appear at random in Phil’s room or in the dining hall, and he’d flash that smile like no matter what anyone told Phil, Dan had won. His knuckles were permanently scarred and cracked. Sometimes Phil smoothed lotion on them, as if it was because of cold. He asked Dan not to do it again. Dan said he probably would. Phil accepted it.

It was a one sided relationship, and Phil knew that. He supposed that in some part of his mind, he hoped that Dan would be cured. He hoped that something would click and Dan would feel something, like an emotion or something of that breed. Phil, unfortunately, was falling, which was dangerous. He fell for the physical. He fell for the warmth. As much as Dan tried to deny it, he _was_ human, and Phil liked being around him.

Before signing himself into the hospital, Phil was very lonely. Perhaps that’s why the voices got so bad. Some days, they were the only voices that he heard besides his own.

They sat in the library, Dan leaning against the wall and Phil leaning against Dan. Phil would read, and Dan would look around, thinking. He was planning something, Phil knew that much, but he refused to talk about it. That’s how Phil knew it was something dangerous. Dan would talk about anything accept something that Phil could get him in trouble for. The plan mattered more.

He knotted his fingers in Phil’s hair, detangling it a bit too harshly. Eventually, Phil would wince, and he’d try to be softer for a few moments. Dan was learning how to be soft. He was no good at it, but he was learning.

Phil knew he was in trouble when his eyes started dropping, and they closed. His mind warned him it was a bad idea, but his body was so relaxed. Dan was a forest fire that you fell asleep in. Warmth, at least of this variety, was dangerous. The snake wraps around your throat and promises he’s just giving you a hug, and then your vision goes blurry and you can’t breathe. That’s what Dan was.

Phil _did_ fall asleep, however, and he _did_ wake up. Nothing had happened. Dan’s breathing and posture was more relaxed, though his eyes remained open. He seemed to be daydreaming. Phil didn’t want to know what daydreams he had, but he pretended they were nice ones.

Phil snuck into Dan’s room late at night. He crawled in bed with him, and Dan’s hands found his arms, feeling around until he was sure that it was Phil, then pulled him in. Kisses that trailed down necks, bites a little too harsh, not gentle enough, but with a few whispers into the darkness they become softer.

Flames could be harsh, could be dangerous. But there were also campfires and hearths and fires that warmed and healed. They didn’t have to be completely soft. You just had to know how far away to stay.

Phil supposed he needed to learn that. Because right now, he was in the middle of the fire pit, and at any moment he could be burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven't forgotten about this fic! More updates will be coming soon. This isn't going to have a ton of chapters, I plan on ending it relatively soon, but we'll have to see!
> 
> In the meantime, I highly suggest you check out my stories "But Love Is Overrated Anyways" (chaptered mutant au with frequent updates) and Libertadores (oneshot Phandom Reverse Bang Fic centered in modern day Venezuela)!
> 
> Check out my tumblr dedicated purely to writing phanfiction [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/). You can also request a phanfic [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/ask). Please comment and tell me what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extra thanks to @smiles-are-toxic on Tumblr for helping me with this chapter!
> 
> Also: trigger warning. Trigger warning. Tw. If you have any triggers, proceed with caution. This whole fic is TW, but just an extra note, because this chapter in specific is bad. If you've read this far in the book but don't feel comfortable reading this chapter, comment at the bottom and I'll summarize it for you so you don't have to put yourself in a potentially not great situation.

It has to get worse in order to get better.

_It has to get worse in order to get better._

Phil’s arms are bleeding.

_He stares at them with glassy eyes. Glassy... glossy? His eyes. His arms bleed from where he scratched them, pulling the ticks off of his skin before they could burrow all the way under. He didn’t scream, just pulled them off, but now he’s bleeding and the blood is everywhere._

The walls throb. A phone keeps ringing, and the answering machine picks it up after four rings.

_"The person you are calling is not currently available, he’s too busy being a fuckup. Please call back later."_

Ring, ring, ring, ring.

_"The person you are calling is not currently available, he’s too busy imaging things."_

Phil wiped under his eyes, trying to collect himself.

_"He just smeared blood all over his face. Now he’s getting angry. Haha, okay, love you too. Please call back later."_

There’s a thumping noise, every second, like the ticking of a clock. Phil realizes too late that it’s his own body rocking back and forth on the bed, causing it to bump against the wall.

_Ring, ring, ring, ring..._

"Phil?"

 _Dan doesn’t look worried. He has a set amount of expressions, and worry isn’t one of them. He has... he has Obsession. That one has wide eyes that dart around the room and a focused look. Sometimes his lips part barely or even form into a smile. He also has Cockiness. It's a clusterfuck of prideful anger and aggressive energy, shown through a smile or more often a smirk. His eyes stay the same. Obsessive. He is obsessive. He is_  obsessed.

"You’re breathing weird," Dan notices, coming over to the bed. Phil is sick, but Dan’s sick too. Sick people see invisible breaths before they see maroon blood.

_Dan’s wearing his last expression, his final one. The only one that makes him seem absolutely miserable and Phil wonders that in the layers of his skin, is the misery closest or furthest from his heart? His misery is shown in his insomniac eyes and empty expression. He feels no pain, just a contented misery. The words 'I’m okay' written in cold eyes._

Phil’s not okay.

_Dan comes to the bed and sits next to him. He grabs his wrists, too roughly still, he’s still too rough. His hands are stained with the blood, and he looks at it with wider eyes, inhaling sharply._

"I’m sorry," Phil chokes out. He’s sobbing, he realizes. Shaking body next to a still one.

_"It’s fine. It’s just... blood is almost as bad as fire." Dan wipes the blood off on his pants. The red reforms in the shape of smiley faces and knives._

"The person you are calling is not currently available. He’s too busy-" the line drops, leaving a ringing silence.

_"Turn off the phone!" Phil almost screams, or maybe he does. The tap tap tapping on the inside of his skull is forming more and more cracks._

"There’s no phone."

_Quiet._

Phil is on Dan’s lap. He’s crying into his chest, and Dan’s clothes are stained with blood. Dan’s relaxed breathing is soothing, the only thing Phil allows himself to hear.

The door opens, revealing a nurse dressed in white. Dan throws a book at her from Phil’s nightstand and yells for them to leave them the fuck alone.

Dan’s the only thing that makes the voices shut up. A giant moth sits on his back, gnawing at the hair on the scruff of his neck. Phil doesn’t tell him. Dan hates moths.

They lay there until the blood's crusted over and Phil can’t cry anymore. He has to stop this. He doesn’t want this anymore. It has to stop.

—-  

They’re naked.

They’re doing the thing people do when they’re naked.

Dan’s body is always so warm. He tries to be soft, but he’s no good at it. Phil lets an 'I love you' escape from his mouth.

The voices in his head have taken on a physical form. They are shaped like people with bug-like features, antennae sprouting from their foreheads and six limbs. They stand in the room, watching as Phil and Dan have sex. The one with grasshopper legs writes rapidly in a notebook. They wear newsboy caps.

The main voice, the one that sounds closest to Phil’s own, is shorter than the others, and stand in the front. He raises a camera and takes a picture of Phil’s orgasm face.

——

It’s raining in the shower. Dan’s touch is finally almost gentle.  _Nevermind._

Phil stares at the water as it goes down the drain, lightly tinted pink from the red all over. He’s crying again, and Dan rolls his eyes and hugs him close.

After they shower, they go their separate ways. Phil looks in the mirror and looks normal again. The bugs are gone. He takes a deep breath, and promises himself he  _will get better_.

The tapping is gone, the voices are gone. He has control. He tells this to himself, repeats it like a mantra.  _He has control_.

He walks into his room and freezes. His houseplant, the one his parents sent in the post, is dead. Where it once stood is nothing but a pile of ashes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left. 
> 
> Check out my tumblr dedicated purely to writing phanfiction [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/). You can also request a phanfic [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/ask). Please comment and tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

 Phil lay on his back in the garden, staring up at the sky. He concentrated on it, and just on it, letting his mind wander but only in the realm of good possibilities. Clouds drifted, like swirls of bunny fluff had been injected with helium and pushed by the most gentle of breezes. 

 Phil inhaled flowers and exhaled warmth. 

* * *

 

 His therapist had given him advice for keeping himself under control. She said to talk to people, to distract himself, to think positively, to upkeep his personal health and hygiene, and when he did hear or see things that weren't really there, to simply ignore them. Bugs wouldn't hurt him. She told him there were bugs everywhere in life, and to love and appreciate the work they did for the environment.

 Phil had been following her orders to the letter. He breathed deeply. He relaxed. He talked to the nurses, asked them about their days and their lives. They didn't like talking about their families, but some talked about their pets, dogs and cats whom they loved dearly. Phil considered that maybe, once he became better enough to leave and go home, he would get a pet instead of just houseplants. It was the most basic therapy technique, one that he read in every single self-help book in the wooden library the hospital supplied; you dedicate some time and energy into taking care of something besides yourself. Phil could get a dog. Something big enough that he wouldn't accidentally step on it, but small enough that it could jump up on his couch and watch TV with him.

 "Phil, it's rotation time," the outside guard, Dorian announced kindly. Phil pushed himself up into a sitting position slowly, dusting off any lingering woodchips from his hair. "Thank you, Dorian. I have another free hour."  
 "I believe you mean you have an hour in the lounge." The nurse/guard suggested carefully, as if Phil might snarl at the words 'no, you're wrong'. Instead, Phil smiled.

 "Yeah, I guess you're right." 

 Phil never went to the lounge. Instead, he usually spent that hour with Dan, roaming the halls, or loitering in the library. It wasn't technically allowed, but Dan did what he wanted, and Phil suspected the nurses turned a blind eye to them. Phil was slowly helping Dan, making him more human every day. As Phil walked along the corridors looking for him, he decided he tell Dan about the advice his therapist had given him. He would get better if he took care of himself, talked to people, stayed distracted- 

 Phil had been walking and looking for Dan for ten minutes when it happened, and for a few moments, he froze, only processing the sound and what it was supposed to mean because it couldn't mean what he thought it did, were they mad? A fire alarm ripped through the building, and he supposed it was quieter than most, but it was still plenty loud to him. Phil found himself shuffling backward, inching towards the door before his conscious mind took control and slapped his subconscious into submission. And he barreled down the hallway, away from the door, because he knew that there was no way in hell Dan would ever leave a potentially burning building until it was crumbling down on top of him unless he was in a straight jacket. And he was likely waiting somewhere to rendezvous with Phil, likely with few nurses around, and as soon as he heard that siren there was no doubt in Phil's mind that Dan's eyes widened and he ran for it. Dan was an addict, and he valued the fire over most things. Phil wondered if he valued it over his own life.

  As Phil ran, he heard footsteps come down the hallway and opened the door to the nurses' office, jumping instead and slamming it closed before anyone could see him. He watched as half a dozen figures passed by, probably a few nurses and a few patients, looking for others who weren't rushing to get out. 

 When they'd passed, Phil quickly slipped out and started running again, hoping to find Dan before he did anything irreparable.

\-----

 He searched for what felt like a long time and had not yet found Dan nor the fire. Phil had searched everywhere, everywhere he could think of and now there were no more nurses in the hallways but he could smell smoke and finally, he ignored his instincts and just followed the smell. 

 It lead him to a door that he shoved open, and immediately wanted to crumple against. 

 The library was ablaze. A large pile of books sat on the floor, neatly arranged like a campfire, the entirety of it burning with angry orange flames that lapped up the plastic and paper book covers, happily curling the blackened pages together into chunks of coal. Other, smaller fires, darted around the room: the cushioned chair that someone always sat at, that was now vacant; the mismatched metal and wooden shelves, with small fires still growing; and a single book laying against the wall where the two of them always sat,  _The Odyssey_ , burning away. 

 In a corner, a figure straightened slowly and smoothly, like he couldn't make a sound if he tried. Dan turned, smiling like a kid at an amusement park. "I was hoping you'd come." 

 Phil stepped forwards, and the door automatically closed behind him, trapping him in the room with the fire and its enabler. As soon as he closed the door, the heat and smoke began to grow more intense, and he could feel his palms sweat. "Dan. We have to go." 

 It was futile, painfully futile, and Phil knew it. Because Dan was the enactor, not the victim. He lifted a book off the shelf and lit it using a handheld cigarette lighter, holding it and watching as it burned.  

 "We can't go," he murmured. He closed his eyes, inhaling the smoke like it was fresh air. "You don't understand Phil. You don't understand, let me show you." 

 "Dan, drop the lighter." 

 "You don't get it! Come here, let me show you." His face twisted up in pain as the fire from the book rose up and lapped at his hands, but he didn't let go.  
 Phil marched towards him, and Dan's lidded eyes saw nothing as he breathed heavily, leaning against the shelves.  

 Then they were on the ground, and Dan was on top of his, pinning him down. "Just wait Phil, you have to wait!" 

 Phil wiggled against him, but Dan held fast, not bothering with being gentle. His eyes were trained on the campfire pile of books a few paces away, and the small trail of fire that spread across the carpet.

 "Phil.... stop! Be.... patient!" Phil knocked him over, and they wrestled on the floor, grappling over the lighter and over dominance, but it was hardly a fair fight. Dan's regulatory system, the system that kept everything in check, had shut down, leaving him using his full strength without care of injury. Rolling, they knocked into a bookcase, and flaming paperbacks rained down on them.   
 "Ow! Dan, get off, we have to-" 

 "Hold still!" Dan flicked the lighter, right by Phil's ear, and pinched some of his hair in between two fingers. "Stop.... squirming!" 

 Phil kicked him hard, sending Dan tumbling backward, the lighter still tightly ingrained in his hand. Phil stood and immediately fell back down, coughing with the smoke he'd just fully inhaled. He envisioned black lungs, black breath, little specks of black smoke traveling through his circulatory system and creating miniature campfires under his skin. 

 The library was all ablaze, the fire crawling towards him on all sides. Phil backed up against the shelf. Dan sat only a few paces away, panting and looking at the flames in pure, childish amazement. He crawled over to Phil, more cautiously. "I'm glad you were here," he mutters, and the voices whisper it back to Phil, echoing it over and over in timid voices. "You made this fun." 

 He crawls closer, until he's almost on Phil's lap, and kisses him. Fire laps at Phil's calf and he cries out in pain, but it's muffled by the kisses. 

 "I love you," Dan whispers, but Phil doesn't know who he's talking to. His kisses taste like smoke as the fire reaches the ceiling and the smoke lowers further, and Phil can smell his own hair burning. His fingers lock around Dan's throat but he doesn't push away or struggle as Phil reaches for the lighter with his other hand. He detangles it from Dan's tight grip and somehow manages to throw it into the fire. One second, two seconds, then a small explosion, and Dan sighs in relief, leaning against Phil like he might take a nap, the painful warmth baking them together. 

 A thousand murmured apologies glide through the air, but only Phil hears them because the voices aren't there. He inhales through his nose, and Dan smells more like smoke than the burning library does. 

 Then the ceiling crumples in and the fire doesn't hurt anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left.
> 
> [My Tumblr (where I post all of my works, I only post some on ao3)](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Request a fic](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/ask)


	7. Epilogue

 Phil sips tea from a mug and stares at the potted houseplant in front of him. 

* * *

 

 His flat is smaller and altogether more simple than his older one. It contains only a bedroom, a bathroom, and a larger room that holds his kitchenette and his living space. In the living space, a small TV is shoved in the corner with an armchair facing it.

 The armchair does not face it now. It instead faces the window. 

 Next to the armchair is a small table. On the table is a coaster, for Phil's tea, and leaning up against the coaster is his cane. 

 His phone beeps quietly, and Phil stands, setting the tea down and grabbing his cane, walking to the door without a second thought because it's 9:30 Saturday morning and he's not allowed to leave until 9:30 on the dot, because then he'd be too early and it'd look bad. 

 Phil thinks of the same things as he travels on the tube to the same destination every week. First, his left hand trails up to his fringe, and he feels it, feeling the fresh hair from where some had been singed off. Then, he adjusts his hands on his cane, and he peeks down to see if anyone could see the burns on his calf, like one day the hem of his pants will fall just a bit higher and everyone will stare at the raw skin where the burns had been healing for weeks but still looked horrid.

 After checking that his calf is still covered, Phil looks straight forwards and thinks of the last day he held Dan. He recalls how the roof collapsed in on them, and Dan said that he loved him, and Phil didn't know whether he was talking to him or the fire growing closer and hotter.  

 Memories fight for his attention. Sometimes, he hears people, actual people saying 'think about this' or 'no, don't think about that', but he doesn't look to see where they are because he knows the voices too well and knows the games they like to play. He watches a ladybug climb the window, and is thankful because there are bugs everywhere and bugs help the environment. 

 He remembers the days he spent in the hospital. The bugs and the blood and the voices and Dan, so much Dan. Dan struggling against the nurses but still smirking because he was always in control. Dan sitting with him at lunch, in the library, Dan staring with him out the window, Dan smiling and Dan smirking and Dan pressing him against the wall and Dan, Dan, Dan.

 He gets to his stop, and is standing and getting off of the train before he realizes what he's doing because it's all muscle memory now. 

 Phil sits, leaning the cane against the counter, and waits. 

 He catches his breath each time he sees Dan. This time is no different. Dan shuffles over, sitting and picking up the phone and he's talking before Phil even has a chance to listen. 

 "-the next book in the series, I read the one you gave me last week and it made me so angry. Did you get a new houseplant?"  

 "Yeah, a fern." 

 "Good. And a dog?"

 "I haven't found one yet. But I'm thinking of getting one from a shelter." 

 "You need to get a puppy, that way you can train it and it won't get scared by your fits. And you should get a cactus, I hear they handle heat better-" 

 "I don't light my plants on fire." 

 "-Okay, but they handle heat better. And Phil, don't forget the book-" 

 "I won't."

 "Because seriously, I'm going insane in here." Dan laughs a little at that, and Phil wonders who he could have been if not for his addiction/obsession/disease.   
 Phil places his hand on the glass, and Dan does too, immediately, because actions form habits. Habits form addictions. Dan is addicted to fire. Phil is addicted to something else. 

 Dan's knuckles are scarred over and bloody. They always are. 

 "I miss you." 

 Dan smiles smally.  

 "I'm sorry, but your time is up."  

 Dan's phone is slammed down and he looks up at the guard who did so with an expression of professional interest and distaste. Then his eyes fall to the woman's hands, slightly scarred from burns, the type that you only got from smoking. 

 Then Dan smiles back to Phil through the glass, either 'I love you' or 'I'll see you soon' and then, just like that, he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr dedicated purely to writing phanfiction [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/). You can also request a phanfic [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/ask). Please comment and tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr dedicated purely to writing phanfiction [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/). You can also request a phanfic [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/ask). Please comment and tell me what you think!


End file.
